The Bridesmaid Wore Sneakers: A Clean Romance

By Cynthia Thomason

It takes courage to fall in love 

To everyone in her rural Ohio community, Jude Foster O'Leary's dead husband is a war hero. Yet how can she forgive him for choosing the military over his family when they needed him most? And now the charitable foundation she established in his name is in danger of going belly-up, until Liam Manning comes to the single mother's rescue. But the financial adviser's arrival in Dancing Falls wasn't happenstance. Despite her attraction to the driven professional in his three-piece suitand Liam's winning way with her young sonJude has to protect herself from this caring, contradictory man who takes dangerous risks. And from the treacherous feelings Liam's awakening.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Heartwarming
• Release date: Aug 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781488009174

Cynthia Thomason

Cynthia Thomason writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are not taken for granted. A multi-award winning author, she began her publishing career in 1998 and has since published more than thirty novels. Her favorite locales are the North Carolina mountains and the Heartland where she was born and raised. Cynthia lives in Florida where she hopes to share her home soon with another rescue dog. She likes to travel and be with family. Her son, John, is also a writer.

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PROLOGUE

Eight years ago

AN OLD SOUL with a fighting spirit. That was how Jude Foster’s mother often referred to her. Well, if caring about people and creatures and causes made her an old soul, then Jude was happy to have earned the title. Just because she didn’t go out with friends a lot and chase guys...just because she didn’t care a bit for the community college courses her father had encouraged her to enroll in—none of that meant she didn’t have a fulfilling life.

True, she was twenty-three years old and had never been in love. So what? Her mother also told her that her heart would find its match eventually, and in the meantime she didn’t mind avoiding all the angst and heartache her sisters constantly talked about.

If she could just convince her dad that she wasn’t college material, that she truly hated the idea of cleaning teeth for the rest of her life. All she needed was a new goal, one she could present to her father as a viable alternative to scraping molars.

Jude left the medical associate’s degree building of Munson Community College and released her usual sigh of relief. Somehow she’d managed to muddle through nearly three semesters of training in the dental hygienist school, doing just well enough to keep from flunking out.

She certainly couldn’t attribute her modest success in college to her own drive and purpose. Jude simply wasn’t a student, never would be. No, she was doing this for her father, who’d spent the first two years after Jude graduated from high school trying to interest her in a field that required higher education, while she worked the cash register at Winnie’s Western Wear. They’d settled on this path, or more accurately Martin Foster had settled on it, and the rest had been a history just short of drudgery. If she finished this semester and got through one more, she could clean teeth. Wow, the prospect excited her not at all.

She came around the corner of the student union building and decided to skip lunch today. She could be home in thirty minutes and spend her afternoon at the barn with her docile and delightful mare, Honey. Maybe they’d ride on the property. Maybe they’d go all the way to Bees Creek. Either way, the thought of a gallop through the countryside made Jude forget uppers and lowers that hadn’t been flossed in months.

She was about to cross the paved road that ran between the union and the students’ parking lot when she noticed an old pickup truck broken down on the side of the asphalt. The hood was up, and a frantic hand waved the air where smoke was billowing from the engine. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was dressed in old jeans, work boots and a long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off admirable muscles.

Never one to pass by a trouble spot if she thought she could lend a hand, Jude went up to the truck. Can I help? she asked.

The man rose from the hood, wiped steam from his forehead and grimaced.

Jude’s mouth almost watered, probably from a lack of lunch, she told herself.

He was gorgeous. Long, dark hair that reached nearly to his shoulders. A strong face with storybook masculine features that included a square jaw, high cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose. The only part of that face that didn’t blend well with the other features were dark, curling lashes that immediately captured Jude’s attention.

Have you got a cell phone? the man asked. I need to make a phone call.

The guy didn’t have a cell phone? Wow, maybe she’d entered a time warp and had been transported back a few decades. The truck, at best a relic of the eighties, fit the scenario in her mind. She fished her phone out of her backpack and handed it to him. Do you know how to use this?

He gave her a questioning look. Of course. I just forgot mine when I left the house this morning.

He punched in a number. Richie, it’s me. Tell Pop the truck broke down again. I’m going to need a tow. He paused, listening. I know. I tried that. Another pause. Yes, I made it to the college, but I’m going to have to unload all this produce by myself and carry it into the kitchen.

For the first time Jude noticed a plastic tarp covering the cargo area of the truck. Between the rope tie-downs she could see assorted vegetables and fruits.

Don’t bother, he said to the person on the phone. By the time you could get here, I would already have it mostly delivered. Just tell a tow to be here in an hour.

He handed Jude her phone. Thanks. Can’t believe I left my phone at home. Glaring at the truck, he added, I should know to keep it handy when I’m forced to drive this piece of... He stopped, looked at Jude. Sorry.

She’d noticed his left hand when he gave her the phone. No ring.

No problem, she said. I heard you tell that other guy...

My brother, Richie.

Okay, Richie, that you would unload this produce. I assume it’s going into the building next door to us here.

That’s right. My family farm furnishes fresh vegetables to the cafeteria. Usually I drop it off at the loading door in the back. Looks like I won’t be doing that today. He frowned at the truck. She conked out on me and won’t go another inch. Can’t let the stuff sit in the truck and spoil.

No, you wouldn’t want to do that. She dropped the backpack from her shoulder and tossed it into the truck cab. This should be safe here. And if it wasn’t, she really didn’t care.

What are you doing?

I’m going to help you carry this produce to the union. Me and anyone else I can draft to give us a hand.

You? His facial expression was less than confident. I can do it, really. I don’t want you straining anything.

She knew her slight figure belied her strength. And she also knew her strength. A girl didn’t haul hay bales and water buckets without building up some muscle tone. She began untying the knots in his tie-downs. When she’d cleared a bushel basket of tomatoes, she hoisted it easily from the truck. Staring at the man’s shocked expression, she smiled and said, Come on, let’s go.

Jude succeeded in nabbing a half dozen volunteers she knew from hygiene classes. The entire truck was emptied in a half hour.

Wow, thanks everyone, Mr. Gorgeous said when the job was done. The other students left, but Jude, gratefully accepting an apple, munched and waited for the tow to arrive. When it did, she asked the man what he intended to do to get back to his farm.

I’ll ride in with the tow driver. My brother will pick me up.

I might be able to take you, she said. Where is your farm?

Bees Creek Township, he said.

Amazing, she said. I’m going right by there. Never had a lie come so easily.

Well, then, I appreciate the lift. You’ll really save me some time. He stuck out his hand. I don’t think a young lady should offer a ride to a stranger, though. My name’s Paul O’Leary.

Jude Foster. Nice to meet you.

They rode to Bees Creek in Jude’s trusty Volkswagen with its ragtop and five-speed transmission. By the time they pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse, which bore the signs of many coats of paint, Jude was in love.

CHAPTER ONE

DESPITE BEING A WIDOW, Jude Foster O’Leary was content with her life most of the time and even happy on occasion. Unfortunately she’d only experienced a very short period being happily in love. And on this last Saturday of November, at her sister Alex’s wedding to the love of her life, Jude had to work at keeping a smile on her face. That was because she’d only been married to Paul O’Leary for two years before he was killed in Afghanistan, and while she was truly happy for her sister, she couldn’t help being miserable for herself.

Paul had left her with an infant son who just turned six a few weeks ago. Jude adored Wesley, even though his appearance was enough like his father’s that sometimes her eyes hurt just looking at him. And she loved the animals she cared for. She loved and respected her father, and she’d always been close to her two sisters, Alex and Carrie. But as anyone who’s ever been in love, or suffered the loss of love, can attest, all that isn’t enough.

Alex was the one in white today, while Jude and Carrie, along with Alex’s daughter, Lizzie, wore floor-length shimmering pink dresses, perfect for the other two ladies, not so much for Jude, who never chose to shimmer for any occasion. Now that the ceremony was over, the bridal party occupied a banquet-length table affording a view of the guests at Fox Creek Country Club. The Fosters had lived in Fox Creek, Ohio, for three generations, so Jude knew most everyone in attendance.

Except the tall guy in the perfectly fitted three-piece suit whose sandy blond hair was meticulously styled in an I-don’t-have-to-try-to-look-like-this way. Jude normally didn’t fixate on men, but when this guy had walked by the table earlier, Jude noticed several details, including the overhead chandeliers reflecting their twinkling lights in his polished shoes. She picked him out of the crowd again as she played with her shrimp cocktail.

Hey, Carrie, she said, gently jabbing her younger sister in the arm. Who’s the slick reality show bachelor sitting at the farthest table to the left?

Carrie adjusted the glasses that made her look like an adorable nerd. I’ve seen him before, she said. Also that man next to him. She drummed her fingers on the table. I know now. That’s Lawrence Manning. He’s a dermatologist at the hospital where Daddy works. They’ve been friends for years.

Jude coughed. That young guy is a friend of Daddy’s?

No, silly. I’m talking about the older guy. I think the younger one is his son. I remember meeting him a couple of years ago when Daddy and I were at a restaurant near the hospital. His name is Ethan or Liam, or...something old-fashioned.

Liam Manning. The name raced to the forefront of Jude’s mind, but not in a good way. It’s Liam, she said. I remember him, too. We were at a party together when we were kids, maybe ten years old. He was a horrid little monster back then.

Carrie exaggerated fanning her face with her hand. Well, he doesn’t look like a monster now.

Unless monsters came with too-perfect bodies, perfect bronzed skin and aristocratic noses.

I think you should ask him to dance, Jude, Carrie said.

Me? I don’t think this orchestra knows any Western line dances. And I’d only fall over my feet trying to do anything else.

Don’t be silly, Carrie said. You’re graceful on a horse, why not the dance floor?

Because grace isn’t a transferrable quality, Jude answered. I think you should ask him to dance. You’re the one with light feet.

Carrie gave her the cute, conniving smile that Jude had admired for years. You saw him first.

I don’t care. I don’t want him. I was mostly admiring his shoes. Besides, he’s probably married.

I don’t think so. I believe I heard Daddy say that Lawrence’s son got a divorce.

Oh. Jude continued looking Liam’s way.

Doesn’t matter, anyway. Looks like neither one of us will get the chance to dance with Mr. Charming, Carrie said. She watched her father approach the young man. I wonder what Daddy’s up to.

Her father walked up to the Mannings’ table and put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Martin leaned over, spoke to Lawrence and then into the younger man’s ear. Liam nodded, stood and followed Martin out of the room.

Now, where could they be going? Jude said, suddenly suspicious of her father’s motives. What does Daddy have in common with that guy? He must be thirty years younger than Daddy.

I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with any of us, Carrie said. Are you going to eat the rest of that shrimp?

Jude wasn’t so sure. Most of what her father did outside his office was about his family. She absently slid the shrimp bowl over to her sister. Martin Foster was a wonderful, generous, supportive father, but she’d bet her sister Alex’s shiny new diamond ring that Martin was up to something. And when Martin Foster was up to something, one of his daughters was usually the reason.

* * *

NICE PARTY, SIR, Liam said as he allowed himself to be led toward a quiet alcove away from the festivities. He had a pretty good idea why Martin Foster was taking him away from his table. His father had warned him that Martin wanted to talk to him today about a business matter. The whispered message in his ear confirmed that when Dr. Foster said he needed a few minutes of Liam’s time.

Thank you, son. It’s nice to see my Alexis so happy.

Liam sat in a comfortable wing chair and thought about the prime rib he’d signed up for. Though he wasn’t friends with any of the Foster daughters, and didn’t socialize with Dr. Martin Foster, he’d driven down from Cleveland to accompany his own father to the wedding. He figured the prime rib would be the best part of the afternoon and he didn’t want to miss it.

At first Liam didn’t know why his father had insisted he come. Dad had lots of friends among this crowd. Liam was an outsider to Dr. Foster. He recalled only one brief meeting at a restaurant with Martin’s youngest daughter, Carrie. But when his dad mentioned that Dr. Foster might need his services, he donned his best suit and showed up. Liam was good at what he did, and if Dr. Foster needed financial advice, Liam didn’t mind charging for his expertise.

Martin took a seat next to Liam. Did you know I asked your father to bring you today? he said.

Yes, he told me something about your concerns when I got here today. I don’t know a lot, and frankly I was confused because I don’t know Alex, and I’m not part of the medical crowd.

This isn’t about Alex. Your father tells me you can do more with a dollar than most people can do with a hundred, Martin said. Is that so?

Liam smiled. I’m not a magician, sir. A dollar can only go so far today, and there’s not much any of us can do to stretch it. But I like to think I know a bit about managing money.

Of course you do! A person doesn’t graduate with honors from the Wharton Business School without having a great deal of economic savvy.

So Dr. Foster knew something of Liam’s background. Is that what this is about, Dr. Foster? Do you need some financial guidance? Liam knew that Dr. Foster was taking care of his ailing wife. Perhaps his insurance was running out and funds had become limited. He took out his wallet and fished out a business card. You’re welcome to call my office anytime, and we can set up a meeting.

Martin absently took the card and slipped it in his shirt pocket. I won’t be coming to your office, Liam. And I don’t need help with my finances per se. But someone in my family certainly does.

Oh?

Do you remember my daughter Jude?

No, sir, I don’t believe we’ve met.

Well, you have, but it was twenty years ago. You don’t remember a young blonde with her hair in pigtails?

Liam could almost picture a rangy preadolescent in braids, but he wasn’t sure.

She doesn’t look much different today, Martin said. Still has the pigtails. She’s the sister in the middle up on the dais. The one who looks as though she’d like nothing better than to get that dress off and get into a pair of jeans.

I’ll be sure to notice her when we go back inside. Does this meeting have something to do with Jude, then?

It does, and I should warn you. Jude can be headstrong, stubborn. I can count the times she’s taken my advice on the fingers of one hand.

I don’t follow, sir. I don’t know about children, since I don’t have any.

Martin gave a wise nod. Count your blessings for now, son. Here’s the thing. I want you to take her in hand, Liam. She’s the CEO of a private charitable foundation, and every year the foundation’s bottom line gets worse. Jude is penny-wise and pound-foolish if you get my drift. If I let things go on as they have been for the last few years, working to keep her afloat, I might be facing bankruptcy.

Bankruptcy?

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration.

Liam knew Dr. Foster’s reputation. He was the best cardiologist in the Cleveland district, and patients came from the tristate area to seek his advice. Bankruptcy? Liam didn’t think so. Foundations are supposed to exist on donations and grants. Are you telling me your personal finances are mixed up in this particular charity?

I funded it when Jude set it up. I gave her a considerable amount and a credit line to use while she was getting started.

Naturally any creditors would be happy to accept Martin Foster’s IOU. And you’re still backing Jude up when she needs it, Liam said.

Nothing I can’t handle yet, but you know how it is, Liam. This wedding cost a pretty penny. I have expenses because of my wife’s illness. I was hoping to retire soon, but until Jude’s project is under control, I can’t.

What do you think I can do, Dr. Foster?

Teach her how to manage money.

He said it like he was asking Liam to teach her the multiplication tables.

It’s not like she spends it on shoes or purses or any of the fineries other women get so excited about, Martin said. She barely spends a dime on herself. But she’s quick enough to spend hundreds, even thousands on other things, all the dang projects and causes she’s supporting.

What kind of causes?

It’s hard to keep up. There’s stray animals, wounded vets, physically challenged children. She’s even supporting a local radio station that she claims is vital to the rural farming community around Fox Creek. And the bills that keep all these charities running end up in Jude’s mailbox, or mine, and often require large chunks of money from my personal account to pay them. The worst is the animal upkeep. I’ve paid for more hay, animal feed and vet services than I care to think about.

Liam knew the answer to his next question before he even asked it. Why doesn’t she pay the bills out of the foundation’s funds? Doesn’t she get donations?

Oh, she does. Some. But that’s where you come in, Liam. I don’t know the true answer except to say when bills come due, there is often no money. Martin shook his head. She’s a wonderful girl, don’t get me wrong, but she doesn’t have a head for numbers and accounting.

And Liam had no desire to get himself in the middle of what was obviously a Foster problem. Excuse me for saying so, Dr. Foster, but this seems like a family matter to me. Have you tried talking to your daughter?

Martin sighed. You don’t know how difficult that is for me. You see, Jude lost her husband over five years ago. He was killed in the Middle East fighting for his country. Since then, she’s been kind of like a lost soul, always running from one needy cause to another. Besides her son—and she’s a good mother—all those good works have become her life. It’s not easy for me to get in the middle of all that suffering and try to change things.

That’s tough, I’ll agree, Liam said. But I still don’t see what I can do. What makes you think she’ll listen to my financial advice if she doesn’t listen to yours?

I’m trying to tell you...I haven’t given her any!

Maybe if you sat her down...

I don’t have the heart, Liam. She’s my baby. I love her. Oh, I’ve made a few suggestions, tried to guide her, but things don’t seem to improve, and I don’t want to drive a wedge between Jude and me. That wouldn’t help either one of us. I believe there’s a lot of hurt inside her, and I’m her father, the one who’s supposed to help her, encourage her.

With due respect, sir, I’m not sure I can help her. I don’t even know your daughter.

That’s true right now, but I’m hoping you’ll introduce yourself into her life and you, as an outside party, can show her how to manage her money better, or at least cut back on the spending. After all, son, you’re the expert, and even Jude can’t argue with an expert.

Well...

Not letting Liam finish, Martin said, Your father can’t brag enough about you. You can be a voice of reason for Jude. You don’t have the problem of emotion to deal with. Once you’ve gained Jude’s trust, I believe she’d listen to you.

"I don’t know how true that is, Dr. Foster. My clients come to me willingly. I don’t seek them out to try and get them to listen to reason as you’re suggesting. And anyway, I have a